A while back, my daughter asked me for a word that starts with the letter “O.”
“Ovary,” I blurted out.

The subconscious is a strange thing. I could have easily chosen “orange” or “orbit” or “out” or “original?” But no. I, who am old enough– old starts with “o” –to have college-age kids but have a 7- and an 11-year-old instead, chose “ovary.”

At least I didn’t blurt out “orgasm.”

Analyze that any way you wish, but here’s the rest of my alphabet:

A is for angry
B is for breast lift
C is for contraception fatigue
D is for décolletage cream
E is for emotional
F is for flat butt.
G is for gray eyebrow hairs
H is for hyster, latin for womb, which is the root of the word hysterical
I is for insufficient funds
J is for my favorite Jackson: Jermaine
K is for Kegels.
L is for low-waisted pants are my friend
M is for Mirena, my frenemy
N is for nap
O is for ovary.
P is for peri-menopause
Q is for quick quiche made with frozen pie crust
R is for repetitive readings of Rapunzel make me want to rip my hair out.
S is for stretch jeans
T is for “Do I get a trophy at the end?”
U is for unsightly hairs in unlikely places
V is for Victoria can keep her secret
W is for I’ll keep the Wonderbra
X is for boyfriends who visit my dreams
Y is for yawn and yell and yearn
Z is for zippers that always break

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